


Sucking Lemons

by convexity



Series: Sucking Lemons [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Fingering, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dr Newt Scamander, M/M, Master/Slave, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Multi, Nipple Clamps, No Magic Mentioned but it's not written out, Non-Consentual Elements, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Abuse, Prostate Massage, Protective Original Percival Graves, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Sounding, Speculum use, What Prohibition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexity/pseuds/convexity
Summary: Credence has legally belonged to Graves for a few months. The state requires an in depth medical examination for their records. Graves takes Credence to the clinic where the presiding doctor is Newt Scamander.





	Sucking Lemons

**Author's Note:**

> So the actual physical interaction here is Newt/Credence but Newt is a doctor performing a medical exam.  
> Credence is Grave's legal slave and Graves is present the entire time. Magic is not explicitly talked about, but it is not ruled out.
> 
> On The Universe: I imagine the circumstance being that slavery, especially of a sexual nature, is legal and practiced among the wealthy and elite. It is not popular among the political left, abolitionists, or the impoverished majority, but the current laws allow it, leaving everyone currently powerless to change it. Graves is not a supporter of the institution, but it was the only way in which he could legally gain custody of Credence from Mary-Lou, since he is over 18 and he was bound to her- and her church- by corrupt debtors laws. Thus, Credence now legally belongs to Percival Graves.

Credence was trembling. It was visible in his long, white fingers, an uneasiness he couldn’t shake from his spine. Graves noticed, as usual, and placed a broad, warm hand on the back of the boy’s neck. A curl of black hair ticked his fingertips, soft as mink.

“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart.” Graves murmured into Credence’s ear.

"Can't _you_ just tell them I'm fine?" Credence asked beseechingly, not for the first time. "You know medicine. When you healed my hands..."

Graves shook his head, "I was an _army medic_ , Credence- not a licensed professional. I'm afraid I can't circumvent the state on this one." Graves hated Credence's despondent look. "This is routine. I promise. The state requires a clean bill of health in your paperwork to finalize the process that we began when I brought you home early. That's all."

Credence made the tiniest noise in the back of his throat, which may have been acquiescence or protest. Grave’s wasn’t sure of which. Part of him knew he was too soft with the boy. He was too gentle, gave him too much agency. But the boy’s ugly past combined with Grave’s own soaring affection for his boy and made him softer than even the most lenient owners. Graves didn’t mind when the boy refused him, spoke for himself, made a request. He didn’t want someone so cowed that they were afraid to breathe or move wrong around him. He wanted Credence to trust him enough to be honest with him.

When they were alone, Graves spoke to the boy as an equal. None of the conventional ‘seen and not heard’ rules applied to Credence. None of the obligatory kneeling for hours on end, beatings or starvation, sleep deprivation or confinement or the humiliation of being naked in public. His boy knew that he could ask questions, could make requests. Graves had told him when he first took him home that Credence could speak, say no, refuse anything he did not like and there would be no repercussions.

It bothered Graves how he didn’t have to instruct Credence to change immediately when they were in public. He knew how to stand, how to avoid eye contact, how to respond when spoken to. His time with his foster mother had taught him that well enough.

The boy’s neck felt hot under his hand.Graves pushed the glass clinic door open, moving the hand from Credence’s neck to the small of his back and steering him inside.

The waiting room was well lit and smelled faintly of chemical cleaner. A man read this morning’s paper while his own charge sat at his feet, collared and wearing only a piece of thin fabric over his groin. The man glanced up briefly at them, eyes going disapprovingly to Credence, who was wearing an expensive coat and shoes and a cashmere scarf, no collar or leash trying him to Graves.If it wasn’t for where they were, Credence could have been Grave’s son or nephew. A younger lover, even.

The man cleared his throat grumpily, making the slave at his feet jump and cringe, and went back to reading his paper. Credence stared a moment too long at the other boy, and Graves knew he was studying what could have easily become of him had he not come into the benevolent hands of Percival Graves in particular.

Credence had a good idea of how others in his station were left to the mercy of their masters, how the state did little to investigate or remedy abuses of power. Property laws were ironclad and generally regarded over human rights or abuse claims.

Since ownership was not necessarily lifelong, slaves could be bought and sold at the whim of their master, pirvately or at auction. Credence feared this would happen to him, that he would somehow end up in another terrifying situation, naked and collared like a dog, kicked and violated at someone’s whim.

Graves had tried to dissuade him of this notion many times, promising the boy he would belong to him always. "Unless I become legally able to free you myself, and know that you wouldn't end up back in indentured servitude.." (Credence still paled at the mention of Mary-Lou and the church). "Unless that day comes, you will be mine forever." He'd promised. Credence was finally soothed, but Graves knew the sight of the naked, collared slave was still unsettling to him.

Potted plants dotted the receptionists counter and graves wasted no time approaching and confirming Credence’s appointment. Credence hung back behind him, starting at the tile floor or else at his own feet. Graves felt a pang of guilt when he looked back at the boy, who was a little pale and still had the trembling that showed in his hands. He would take his boy out for dinner after this, he told himself. Treat him to a warm meal, maybe Italian. A belly full of bread and wine would have the color back in those fine, angular cheeks. Credence would be slipping him little smiles again in no time, back straighter and tremble gone.A warm bath after dinner, perhaps. Lavender bathwater and herbal tea.

His charge reverting into this jumpy, kicked-puppy state upset Percival. He had spent three months so far undoing the years of damage inflicted by the churchwoman, but it was like untangling a fine chain only to have one wrong tug cinch it up anew.

The collared boy was taken past the receptionist’s desk and through a wooden door, led by a man with a clipboard who took the boy’s leash in his other hand. The boy’s master stayed behind, eyeing Credence again disapprovingly until he caught Percival’s stony gaze and quickly went back to flipping the page of his paper. Some silent minutes later, a woman poked her head out of the door.

“Credence?” Graves saw Credence swallow thickly from the corner of his eye and he rose slowly, posture keeping him from his full height. Graves rose from his seat, hand on Credence’s shoulder. “Oh, just the boy will be fine, Sir.” The woman said, looking up from her papers. Credence looked from her to Mr Graves.

“Nonsense.” Graves replied with an easy smile. “I will be accompanying him, Miss.” Credence shot him a grateful look. The woman shrugged and turned to lead them through the doorway. She led them down a white corridor to an examination room and asked them to please wait for the doctor, never looking up again from her clipboard. Alone, Graves bid Credence hop up on the examination table. The boy did so, his long legs dangling like a child’s. Graves stood next to him, let his presence anchor the boy. “Thank you.” Credence said softly.

“Shhh.” Graves tangled a hand in the boy’s grown-out curls. “I’m not leaving you alone, sweetheart.” He said matter-of-factly. 

Credence leaned back into the touch, letting expert fingers massage his scalp. He was still nervous. He wasn’t a child, and didn’t fear doctors, bur this was not a regular doctor. This was a clinic for people in his position, in his diminished social status. He was well aware that he had no rights, no autonomy. He was a piece of property being evaluated for the state, for paperwork. He had no idea what to expect. What kind of physical could the state possibly require for his file? He didn’t want a stranger touching him, looking at him even. He wondered if it would be a man or a woman. He supposed he should find a woman less threatening, but he kept imagining Ma with a doctor’s white coat, her shorn hair boxing her stern face.

Percival’s fingers pinched the base of his neck. Tense as Credence was, he couldn’t help feeling some of that energy fall away from him, like Mr Graves was pulling it out from the base of his spine. He’d rather be a man’s slave than a woman’s.

He jumped when a soft knock on the door heralded the doctor. It wasn’t his nightmare, his ma somehow in a white coat, but a rather young man with auburn hair and clear, bright eyes. His eyebrows raised at Percival standing there too, making his face look impossibly open and unassuming. He didn’t ask any questions, just grabbed two desk chairs, rolling one to the side of the room and sitting on the other, scooting up to his desk. Mr Graves took the hint, patting Credence’s neck once more reassuringly, before going over to the other chair, tugging his slacks up a little at the knees before sitting with folded fingers.

The young doctor glanced down at the chart spayed before him. “Credence?” he asked, smiling slightly and trying to make eye contact with his patient.

“Yes, sir.” Credence responded automatically. He knew that he could shirk some formalities with his master, but that he must never do so to another free person in public. A slap in the mouth would be the least severe repercussion for a slip like that.

“Credence, my name is Dr Scamander, and I’m going to be performing the physical today for your file. The requirements are all from the state, and you’ll have a recurring full physical exam every five years. Unless,” the doctor paused to glance over at Mr Graves, “your master brings you in for another reason at any time, of course. But I’m sure you’re healthy as a racehorse,” the doctor opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pair of latex gloves. “So I’ll just have a look and make sure everything’s top-notch, alright love?”

The doctor looked to Credence again, who was surprised he was talking so much, explaining things to him like he had a choice in anything. He’d expected the procedure to just brusquely start. Dr. Scamander’s smile seemed genuine, Credence thought as he snapped into the gloves. A slight British accent informed all his words, the way his sentences lilted. Credence felt disarmed, and wary at his own disarmament.

He was achingly glad for his master’s calm presence against the wall. He knew his master was intimidating, even to other free people of similar wealth and station. He was glad for it. He nodded at the doctor, who seemed to be waiting for him to do something. The nod sufficed, and the doctor approached him, causing Credence in involuntarily recoil a little on the examination table. Thankfully, the doctor ignored that. Alright, he said softly under his breath as he put two fingers behind each of Credence’s ears, slid them down to the pocket of his jawline, massaging the glands.

 _Mmm-hmm_ , Dr Scamander hummed as he rolled his latex covered fingertips over the glands, looking off somewhere at the wall behind Credence’s head in concentration. Credence stole a glance at Dr. Scamander, who was probably ten years his master’s junior. He could smell soap from the man’s skin even though his hands wore gloves, Credence assumed he’d washed to the elbows before entering the room. He hadn’t been in this kind of personal space with anyone but Mr Graves in months, and he’d been grateful for it. He felt the man’s proximity to him like a livewire.

The fingers retreated and the doctor asked Credence to open his mouth, to follow a bright light with this eyes. The doctor looked inside both of his ears with the light. Credence sat stiffly on the cold table, not knowing what to do with his hands. They sat face up in his lap and he stared at the wall ahead of him as the doctor moved aorund him doing his work, clucking his tongue gently in his mouth all the while, _tk tk tk tk._ It was an oddly soothing sound. Credence felt like a cat being called, a spooked horse being calmed by it's trainer. 

The doctor swabbed the inside of his outh with a big cotton q-tip, explaining he needed sampled for the lab to make sure he was clean. J _ust routine procedure,_ the doctor winked at him. His blood pressure was good, they concluded next, his height above average, his weight a bit under healthy but not dangerous. He'd been gaining weight steadily the last few months since he'd left the church. His ribs were dissappearing slowly, the  buttery skin of his torso smoothing out like fresh milk, his hipbones softening. His wrists were less sharp, his collarbone and adam's apple less pronounced. His silver scars might one day be all he had left to show of his time in the church. 

“Alright Credence,” Dr Scamander said with a little smile as he clicked off the light, satisfied for the moment. “Can you take this off for me?” He tugged his own white robe to indicate that he wanted Credence to take off his shirt. He shucked his soft coat from his shoulders, which the doctor took from him and set to the side neatly.

Credence felt a faint buzzing in his ears, anticipation and unease as he undid his buttons and handed over the shirt, which joined the pile of his clothes on the doctors desk.

“This might be a little cold,” Dr Scamander apologized with a kind smile, pressing his stethescope to Credence’s bare chest. It was cold. He shivered, and breathed in and out when he was told, and the cold metal moved around his skin, causing gooseflesh to rise up on hi arms and neck, his nipples to stiffen. He didn’t remark on the silver wisps of scars that ran across his shoulders, his chest, his back. Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe he though they were from Graves. If he did, he didn’t comment. It didn’t matter where they were from, or when. Credence was owned. He swallowed.

“Good,” Dr Samander said, retracting the cold instrument. “I have just a few things I need to check on, to make sure that you meet the requirement the state has for service. This part of your examination is a little more intensive. I’ll tell you what I need you to do, and if you just do as I ask and remember to breathe slowly and deeply, this will all be over very soon. ”

Credence glanced at his master, just to remind himself he was there. Mr Graves was watching calmly, one leg crossed so that his stockinged ankle rested on his knee, steepled fingers in his lap. Graves nodded at Credence, not a smile but an acknowledgement, an encouragement. It’s alright, the nod said. Credence steeled himself.

The doctor pulled a metal tray alongside the examination table. Cold, clean instruments glinted on its surface, carefulyl laid out and sterile. Credence recognized few. “A little cold again,” The doctor warned, reaching for a small metal clamp which he affixed to Credence’s taut nipple. The temperature of the clamp was not what made Credence let out a surprised little whine. Shocked that he could be so careless, he sucked in a breath and tried to gain control over himself. He had not been told he could make any noise.

“I know, love.” was Dr Scamander’s only response to the distressed sound. He affixed the second clamp to Credence’s other nipple. This time the boy didn’t make a sound. The doctor leaned back, flicked the clamps with his fingers a few times, causing an aching pull to send a wave of humiliation and, teribly, arousal through Credence. His breath was shaky. His hands had gone from his lap to grip the cold corners of the table.

Dr Scamander seemed to be noting all of this, and leaned back to his desk to jot down a few notes in the file. He put the pencil behind his ear as he turned back to his patient. “Those are going to stay there for a few minutes. Breathe deeply to help you through any discomfort. I’ll try not to take too long, alright?” Again he seemed to want an answer, so Credence nodded miserably, heat rising in his cheeks and warming the back of his ears.

“Take the rest off for me.” The doctor commanded, and Credence fumbled with his belt, shifting side to side to shuck his trousers off his ass. They joined the growing pile of his clothing on the desk and he sat, naked except for the clamps, on the examination table. His master was watching as a complete stranger examined him, prodded and teased him. The clinical environment made him feel even more naked, his very flesh a carnal thing, his simmering discomfort a form of arousal by sheer _wrongness_.

Dr Scamander gestured for him to lie back on the table. He shuffled awkwardly to get his feet to swing over the edge and lie back. Fingers were prodding under his ribcage, down his abdomen. Tk  _tk tk tk,_ the doctor clicked again with his tongue, making this feel routine and _okay,_ like he was humming while doing some ordiary task.

Dr Scamander seemed satsfied with how his organs felt, and was adjusting something by Credence’s feet. He lifted his head to see that from the table, two metal bars had extended, with jointlike pieces for knees and, further down, stirrups for his heels.

The doctor gently guided his legs into the stirrups, so that his feet were secured in the air. He raised the part of the table where Credence’s shoulders and torso lay with a foot-lever, and soon Credence was lying naked at a forty five degree angle, feet secured in the air and wide apart. The doctor sat in his swivel chair between Credence’s legs, and Credence heard the sound of a lubricant jar being opened. 

“Alright, just stay still as you can for me,” the doctor said, “I’ll tell you what I’m about to do before I do it, and if anything is more than you can handle, you raise your left hand and we can take a break, alright love?”

Credence nodded, heart lurching at the doctor’s gentleness with him.

He knew Mr Graves always wanted him to tell him is something felt painful or frightening, and he felt like this doctor was trying to give him the same feeling of safety, but it wasn’t the same at all. Credence lay his head back down, staring at the ceiling, the nipple clamps pulling sharply.

“I’m putting a finger inside you now, try to relax for me.” The doctor said from between his legs. Credence had already braced against it without realizing, and had to consciously try to relax his body. He felt the well lubed finger gently slip inside him. His leg muscles twitched, fixed in the air as they were. He couldn’t move them a bit. The doctor pressed in another latexed knucle, curling his fingers just so that hit the patient’s prostate. The boy was half hard, desperately clutching the sides of the table, almost wishing the doctor had restrained his hands, too.

The tiniest noise escaped Credence, and he looked over at his master for the first time since he had been affixed with the clamps. The doctor looked from the patient to his master, who nodded at the boy as if to tell him it was quite alright.

“On a scale from one to ten, one being no feeling at all and ten being the most intense sensation you can imagine, how does this feel?” His fingers lazily circled the bundle of nerves insdide the boy’s tight heat, and Dr Scamander couldn’t help but notice the way his white thighs flexed and trembled against the stirrups.

“Uhm..” The boy choked.”Four.” With his free hand, Dr Scamander scribbled in his file, replacing the pencil behind his ear.

“Alright, doing great, another finger now.” He warned matter-of-factly, and when he stretched around two fingers the boy ground his hips down, though his range of motion in the stirrups was severly limited. He had gone from half hard to completely erect. Poor boy, it was inevitible. Against the pale skin of his thighs and belly, his cock was red, leading precum from the tip, exposed to the air and the doctor so openly and helplessly.

“Can you give me a number?”

“Ah, six. Six.”

“Good,” Dr Scamander said, too gently. That was making this even harder for Credence, who didn’t know if he was breaking a rule or not with how his body was betraying him. The doctor seemed to read his mind, or else the misery in his voice. In his soft accent he soothed, “It’s perfectly natural, Credence, you’re doing so well. This is exactly the information I need, you just relax and let me take care of it.”

Credence made a stranged mewl in the back of his throat while Dr Scamander wrote in his file again. These sensations forced on him were so intense, made stronger by his own nakedness, his own helplessness. The torturous fingers were retracted, and Credence closed his eyes, humiliated by his arousal at the same time as he desperately wanted to be touched, to be allowed release.

“Cold again” came the warning as Credence felt himself fixed upon a bit of metal, slippery with lube. It opened up inside him with a few clicks, stretching him. He sucked in a breath, hoping it would stop before it became any more paintful. The doctor patted his thigh. “All done. He waited with closed eyes for the device to be removed. It hurt, and to be so open and exposed felt immensely obscene. Instead of retracting the device, the doctor went back to his notes, jotted smething down, and swivelled his chair back to the istrument tray.

Credence heard the soft tinkling of metal and opened his eyes, alarmed to see a long, skinny rod being slicked with lubricant. He wanted to ask what that was, what on earth it could possibly have to do with him. He felt accutely how exposed he still was, his cock achingly hard against his belly, his hole stretched and prodded by the instrument. The clamps still bit cruelly at his tender nipples, only adding to the humiliated misery that was only overpowered by helpless arousal.

He wanted to ask what the slim rod was for. Even with his master in the room, even though Dr Scamander had been kind to him, he was too afraid to ask an unprompted question to a superior.

“This is to make sure you have no urethral obstructions or issues. It’s… a requirement. It may feel strange but.. I promise, no harm will come to you, alright?” Credence’s face must have been unconvinced because Dr Scamander looked to Mr Graves earnestly.

“You alright, Credence?” Graves spoke for the first time since the examination began. Credence shivered at his master’s familair voice.

“Yes sir,” He nodded. He wanted to be brave and good for Mr Graves.

“Your master will be right here the whole time, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you would he?” Credence wondered how Dr Scamander had ascertained that. Their relationship must be plain as day to an outsider, the trust and need Credence placed in his master palpable. Credence nodded, and the doctor scooted closer to him, gently bumping the speculum that stretched Credence wide, causing a spasm of pleasure to tear through him. Dr Scamander wrapped a gloved hand around Credence’s cock, and the boy almost bit his tongue, it felt so good.

He couldn’t help but watch as the doctor circled his sensitive head wth the sound, shiny with lube. Several times he teased his slit, about to dip inside, but retracting every time, until Credence was panting with arousal and anticipation. “One to ten?” The doctor asked.

“Eight.” Credence whispered.

“Alright, hold still." He paused when Credence twitched his hips involuntarily. “Ah-ah-ah, still for me. There you are. Good boy.”

Credence moaned aloud despite himself when the slippery rod pressed him open there, somehwere he had never even considered being opened. Insted of just on the outside, he felt sensation from inside of his own cock as the doctor slowly, slowly, dipped it deeper in. Watching the obstrusion slowly dissapear inside him was deliciously obscene.  He’d grown even harder, precum leaking around the sound and onto the doctor’s gloved hand. “Oh,” Credence whimpered hopefully as the doctor let go of the sound and it bobbed slightly in his hole, fucking his cock in the most unbearably preasurable way.

“Everything’s good, just a little more- and then,” promised the doctor, “I’m going to bring you to orgasm, make sure everything’s fine.”

So he _was_ going to be allowed to come. Instead of scandalizing him, it came as a huge relief. He didn’t think he could walk out of here without coming…he would die of need, he would have to beg his master to let him come in the lavatory before they went into the street again. He felt tears spill from his eyes, running hot down to his hairline and tickling his ears. The doctor let the sound bob and fuck him a little longer while he checked the boy’s balls, rolling them gently and then pressing against his perineum firmly. Credence cried silently, breath hitching, while the doctor clicked his tongue, seeming to take painstaking care to make sure everything was in perfect health. “Sir,” Credence breathed, desperation clawing at his voice. The teasing pressures combined with his sore nipples and tortured cock was growing to be unbearable. He didn’t now if he could control it much longer, or if he might come against his own will from the stimulation.

From between his legs, Dr Scamander placated him with a gentle command. “Just a moment more, love, hold it for me. I’ll tell you when you can come.”

Credence screwed his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain would be enough of a distraction to keep from dosobeying a direct order.

Still the fingers probed his most sentive areas, splayed and defenseless. Credence rolled his closed eyes in his head, his toes clenching and fingers gripping the sides of the table as he willed the black wave or orgasm down. 

Finally satisfied, Dr Scamander reached up to tug on the boy’s nipple clamp and wrap his other hand around the boy’s cock, stroking slowly. 

“Would you like me to take this out?” The doctor asked, tapping the sound lightly where it peeked out from his urethra. Credence groaned. “No,” he whispered, a little ashamed but desperate for the sensations that were ruling his every nerve.

“You were perfect, Credence. Good boy. Come anytime.” The doctor said pragmatically. He was only stroking for a few more seconds when the boy came with a cry. The doctor gently extracted the sound as his orgasm climbed down from it's highest peak, eliciting a hoarser noise from the poor boy. His body twitched and conculsed while the doctor milked the last drops of pearly cum from his stretched out hole, until he was a quivering mess of over- sensitivity, begging him to stop with his eyes if not words.

The doctor removed the speculuum and the nipple clamps, which left angry red skin, blotchy and indented. With a wetted strip of white cloth, he gently wiped lube and cum from Credence’s belly and softening cock, dipping it lastly over his balls and cleaning the lube from his hole. He lifted the boys heels out of the stirrups, and snapped off his gloves, throwing them in the nearby receptacle with the soiled wipe.

He scrated several notes in the file while Credence extracated his knees from their holds and returned to an upright position on the exam table, knees together and hugging his naked torso with his arms. The doctor handed him his clothes with a kind smile. No disgust or cruel humor marred his face, Credence noted.

“I have everything I need for your file. We will mail the lab results to you, Mr Graves. You should recieve them in a few business days.”

Graves stood, waving a hand to show he wasn’t worried about it. He went over to his boy, took the shirt from his trembling hands and held it up behind him. Credence slipped an arm in, then the other.  The older man began to button it.

Dr Scamander watched the careful gesture, how Credence looked up at his master openly. Upon noticing- Mr Graves cupped the boy’s cheek with his palm and said something so quietly that to the doctor it was inaudible. The boy nodded, smiling and leaning into the older man’s palm. Dr Scamander politeley looked away.

Once back in his sable winter coat and gauzy scarf, the boy looked like some wealthy baron or politician’s pampered son, all soft wool and Boston leather and cashmere. It was hard to reconcile the aristrocratic looking boy with the naked, mewling thing he had just had on his table.

Graves led his boy toward the door, thanking Dr Scamander, who nodded.

“Take care, Credence.” he said kindly. The boy mumbled a nicety with lowered eyes, pulling himself closer to his master’s side. Dr Scamander smiled to himself. It wasn’t every day he had an owner accompany an enslaved patient into the examination room. 

He'd found working in the Manhattan clinic a great relief from working in the countryside. These rich city folk kept slaves as housepets, more or less. Playthings sujected to a strange, wide spectrum of treatment. He had treated injuries relating to extreme malnutrition, hypothermia, accidents resulting from unsafe or prolonged working condtions. These physical exams were invasive, but a reprieve from the blood and bone he'd seen before.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he wouldn’t have minded to have one so pretty and receptive all to himself. The unprofessional thought made him feel a twinge of guilt. He’d never minded anyone watching him work, and it seemed to have allowed this one to calm down so he could preform the examination. Mr Graves, the boy’s master, clearly cared deeply for his boy. The doctor was willing to bet that the scars he’d seen were not put there by Mr Graves himself but were older relics of the past. The boy was lucky. He seemed to know it, too. The doctor closed the boy’s file and slotted it in with dozens of others to be sent off at the day's close. 

____ 

The restaurant was busy at this time of night. The dull roar of conversation swirled around them, peppered with the clink of silverware. In the background, brassy ragtime raised the pulse of the room. Credence and Graves settled into a corner booth. Graves ordered a bottle of red wine and had the waiter light the candle in the frosted glass bulb. 

He’d ordered fresh bread and oil. It arrived hot and soft on the inside with a little crunch to the crust, fragrant rosemary rising to their noses as they tore at the slices and dipped them in the oil, eating the morsels with their hands. Credence’s lips already had a little purple stain to them from the wine. In his cheeks was a little color. He’d kept his jacket at first, shaking his head softly when the man proffered an arm at the coat check. If he’d kept it for warmth or security Graves wasn’t sure. He’d let it slide off now, sitting beside him on the booth, his improving posture back to normal. 

“You remember Miss Goldstein?” Graves asked Credence, who nodded enthusiastically as he took another bite of hot bread. “Mhm.” He pointed at his full mouth and nodded with each chew as if to say just a second. He swallowed the bite and replied, “Tina?”

“That’s the one. She is a Latin tutor as well as a mathematics tutor.” Graves had been hinting that he was going to see to Credence’s advanced education for some weeks now.

“But…. Mr Graves…” Credence’s face fell. “She works with you. For you. I couldn’t… Slaves aren’t supposed to…”

Graves interrupted him gently, “I spoke to my lawyer. If I am paying for my… for you to be tutored privately in my own home, I am simply skirting the law. Just like this establishment is skirting the law with this," he gestured to the bottle on the table. "Besides, Miss Goldstein is a friend. She appreciates the delicacy of the situation." Graves raised his eyebrows conspiritorily. "In fact, she is a thrice-arrested abolitionist."

 Credence cast a glance at the next table at the word _abolitionist._ It wasn't a word one threw around in public unless they wanted disdainful looks, people elbowing their neighbor and whispering behind their gloved hands. Mr Graves was never overly cautious. He had an air of invulnerability, as if the rules simply did not apply the same way to him, and int he even that one did, he probably wouldn't notice. 

  
"The Goldstein girl won’t sell me down the river for educating my charge.” He finished.  _Charge._ Mr Graves never had said the word slave to Credence. At first he didn't understand why. He _was_ a slave. How could they go about their evreyday lives in this reality and not even name the thing? Credence had soon realized, it wasn’t that Mr Graves didn’t use the word, he just didn’t say it to _him_. He didn’t want to say something so inelegant and harsh to Credence because he cared about him. Graves took a sip of his wine, looking painfully handsome in his black three-piece and five o’clock shadow. Credence mimicked him, took a sip of his own.

“Okay.” he said. “If you think it’s safe…I’ll do my very best for her.” He said earnestly. “When do we start?”

  
“Next week. It will be in the evenings. I invited her to dinner when you finish up your lessons.” Graves nodded toward their menus. “What would you like? You need something hearty, you’ve been through an ordeal.”

Credence shrugged. “The doctor was nice.”

Graves nodded. “He seemed like a decent man. I’d heard the state has a ludicrous physical examination policy, but I assumed that to be hyperbolic until this afternoon. It was.. sadistic, for sure.”

Credence chewed his pink lower lip. 

“You did wonderfully, Credence. I’m immensely proud.” Graves rushed to add, reaching over to cover one of the boys hands with his own. Credence half nodded half shrugged, taking a bigger sip of wine than before. “Thank you sir,” he whispered on an exhale.

Graves leaned in, menus forgotten for the moment. “Are you alright, Credence?” His boy met his eyes.

“Yes.” He replied after some hesitation.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that today. It was… excessive.”

Credence licked his lips, started to say something and then stopped, squirming a little, his hand still under Grave’s. Graves raised his dark eyebrows, ran a thumb over the back of his hand. Credence was terrible at keeping anything from Mr Graves.

“I was embarassed, sure.” The waiter approached them, but Graves politely indicated they needed another moment.

“I was embarassed and… it was a little scary but… The doctor always told me what he… you know.. what he was doing. And…” Credence blew air out of the corner of his mouth at a stray lock of dark hair that had fallen in front of his eye.

“And you were there. I mean I knew you wouldn’t let him…hurt me.”

Graves nodded, reaching out and tucking the traiterous curl back behind Credence’ ear. “Of course not.” Graves affirmed.

“And because of that I…” Credence looked around the restaraunt at nothing in particular. Graves watched his boy’s eyes, warm and shining in the candlelight. He didn’t want to say it. He’d gotten right up to it, led Graves right to it. He watched him squirm for another moment before letting him off the hook.

“You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you my boy?” Graves growled conspiratorily.

Credence licked his lips, looking guilty at his master. Graves was smiling, amusement shining in his eyes but without a hint of anger or disgust.

“It’s alright. I’m delighted. I was concerned that you were upset, that’s all.” Graves sat back and let his arms rest on the back of the booth, reagrding Credence with a twinkle in his dark eyes that made Credence blush, despite all that he'd endured that day.  Graves wondered if Credence was going to hint at trying some things sexually after the experience he'd had today. Certainly it had awakened some strange appetites. Graves would be thrilled to oblige, but he knew he had to be careful. Credence was strong and resilient, but might try to bite off more than he could chew. Days when he would barely look at Graves were not so long past. His shorn hair and bloodied hands were both gone but old fears were not. Graves could see them sometimes in his posture, his body language. He experienced it firsthand when Credence woke confused and scared from dreams. He wanted to engage in anything Credence wanted to, but responsibly. He took full responsibility for Credence's safety, his wellbeing. 

Credence glanced at the menu, tapped his finger on a swirly line of text. "I want that." He said decidedly. Graves craned his neck a little, reading upside-down. "You like pesto?" He questioned. 

"I love pesto." 

Graves was unconvinced. " _When_ have you had pesto?" He teased.

Credence was not abated. "Uh, not even a week ago, sir," (Graves detected a hint of sarcasm in the _sir,_  and had to supress a chuckle) "you took me to that sandwich shop on 5th Avenue. I got the chicken and basil with...." He cocked his head, smiling impishly. 

"Pesto." Graves capitualted with a raise of his hands. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this story, or at least write more in this universe... if anyone's interested, I'll post it :)
> 
>  
> 
> [ some say hi on tumblr! ](http://bastardgirls.tumblr.com)


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